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  © 2014 Dani Hoots

  ISBN: 978-1-942023-00-5

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  © 2014 Dani Hoots

  ISBN: 978-1-942023-04-3

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  © 2014 Dani Hoots

  ISBN: 978-1-942023-08-1

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  © 2014 Dani Hoots

  ISBN for paperback: 978-1-942023-10-4

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  © 2014 Dani Hoots

  ISBN: 978-1-942023-32-6

  Edited by Chantelle Aimée Osman of A Twist of Karma Entertainment

  Cover Designs Copyright © 2014 by Desiree DeOrto

  eBooks & Paperback Layouts and Designs by Marcy Rachel

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious and are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ANGELA STARR. THAT’S WHAT MY student ID said but the name never did ring a bell. My own blue eyes stared back at me, eager to know the answers my fate had hidden away from me. I repeated my name over and over again, but the memories didn’t come. I ran my fingers over the letters. Something in my mind had blocked out all the information, locking it away for the rest of eternity, or at least that’s how it seemed. I stuck the ID back into my wallet and pulled back my long ginger hair into a ponytail. Thinking back to such things wasted time and energy, and I didn’t want to do that. Nothing seemed to bring back those memories; none of the exercises the doctors gave, not even a hint in a dream. Yes, I wished I could remember something, anything, and find my life once again, but some fantasies just never came true. I had to accept that.

  “Here you go, miss,” the cashier, a young girl, probably a student worker, with round glasses and cute freckles, handed me the textbooks I needed. She fluffed back her blonde hair. Naturally blonde, actually, unlike most.

  “Thank you.” I grabbed the books, each one had to weigh at least five pounds, and stuffed them into my backpack as she began to help the customer behind me. I wondered how students lugged such heavy bags around all day. Hoping things got easier as the school year progressed, I flipped my bag onto my back and started out into the whole brand new world that was Portland State University.

  I had registered for three classes; PH 411: Quantum Physics, PH 475: Stellar Astrophysics, and HST 101: Western Civilizations 1. After wasting a year of my life trying to “find myself”—with no luck I might add—I decided to think about my future and go to school for the first time.

  At least I think this was the first time. I had tested out of differential equations, introductory physics, and chemistry. How, I don’t really know. I just knew all the answers. My therapist, Mandy, who insists she isn’t examining me but simply trying to help me over this “big ordeal”, found it fascinating. I felt like a lab rat, especially when she and her colleagues discussed my illness. Usually, I hadn’t left yet. I hated her for that and haven’t shown up for my last few sessions. My answering machine still blinked, full of messages from her. I’ll listen to them one of these days. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t be going to her stupid sessions, but doctors insisted since I had a “traumatic experience”. Do I seem devastated? They all think I’m still in shock when really I’m just learning to live my life.

  History and geography, on the other hand, I didn’t do so great in. I mean, I did alright, but only with subjects that I happened to pick up at the library and Google. So I had to take a history class and decided to take Western Civilizations 1, which covered antiquity to renaissance era. Random periods and people in history caught my attention, but it all felt new to me. Science, however, did not feel new to me. Why? Good question. I wish I knew the answer.

  I checked the time on my watch. Everyone else used a cell phone but I found that I didn’t need one. I didn’t have anyone to call, really. Other than my therapist, which I didn’t want to talk to. So instead of a cell phone, I got a cute little fox watch to wear. It made me smile and I didn’t have to pay for it every month. It didn’t have numbers which made it hard to tell the hour sometimes. Irritating? Yes, but the cuteness factor made it worthwhile. Right now, it showed a quarter to two. I needed to get to my first class.

  After a few steps I realized I didn’t actually know where that class was. I pulled out my map of Portland State University and looked for the building. It didn’t take me long to find it. Clear across campus, of course. Letting out a slight groan, I folded the map and stuck it in my pocket. Good thing the sun still shined this late in September, its warm rays felt great against my skin, unlike this time last year when rain had already begun to pour. I hated the rain, it made walking around the city almost unbearable. A little was fine, but downpours were horrible. Gladly I always carried an umbrella in my purse. You never knew when you would need it in Oregon.

  Although, tomorrow I’d probably leave the textbooks in my apartment. I didn’t know if my back could take the weight every day. I wondered whether or not other students felt the same. I glanced around. No one else seemed to be having the trouble that I was.

  My eyes lingered on the other students as they made their way to their own classes. I speculated what their lives were like, who they were as children, if they knew their families, if they had any friends—whether or not they left their books at home. A knot tightened in my stomach. I always regretted it, but I couldn’t help from feeling jealous. It didn’t hurt as much as it used to, but every once in a while it ate me up inside. I guess that tends to happen when you wake up in a hospital bed with no memory of your past.

  I noticed a tall blonde man walk by. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to call out. I thought he must have recognized someone behind me, that was the only reason he’d look my way. I glanced behind me to find a group of girls. Of course, he probably knew one of them. They looked like the type of girls that knew everyone on campus. I turned back to find him still examining me. I kept my head down and hurried to my class. I didn’t want to seem like an idiot —like when someone waves and you wave back to only find they were waving at someone else. I had done that way too many times. Besides, I didn’t know anyone on campus. Or anywhere, for that matter.

  He didn’t say anything as I passed him, almost brushing his shoulder. He smelled... Familiar. Woody, with a hint of some kind of fruit, but nothing I had ever smelled in Portland. I stopped dead in the middle of the pathway.

  I knew that smell, I knew that face. Those blue eyes, shaggy hair, and a five o’clock shadow that never seemed to leave his face no matter how often he shaved. Mick? Nick? I could see him in my mind, smiling, laughing. Did I finally find someone that I once knew?

  I spun around, but he was gone. There were a lot of people around, just not him. I shook the hopefulness from my brain. There was no way I knew him. I couldn’t ever be that lucky. I grabbed my head. A headache felt like it was about to form. That’s all I needed on the first day of class.

  Chimes rang out from the clock tower. Crap. I couldn’t be late, not for my first class. At least I could see my building now. I quickened my pace as much as I could with my bag bouncing uncomfortably against my back. Definitely going to leave my books at the apartment tomorrow. Along with a group of students
, I rushed through the entrance and searched around for my classroom. Luckily I knew it was on the main floor and I didn’t have to travel up any stairs.

  I stepped inside to find the professor hadn’t even arrived yet. Figured. Panting, I sat down near the exit and took the things I needed out of my bag. Textbook, notebook, TI-89, pencil, and an eraser. Yup, that was it.

  Leaning back in my seat, I took in everything around me. The small class was a mix of undergraduate and graduate students, of all different ages and cultures. The graduate students had their textbooks out, computers open, and seemed to have already started reading the book. I probably could have just brought a computer to class instead of a notebook, but I found I could remember information better if I wrote it down. Especially dinner recipes. Never again will I put that much chili powder in a soup.

  Undergrads, on the other hand, still shuffled through their things, not yet ready for the first day of school. I fell somewhere in between, curious and ready to learn, but afraid of all the unknown factors. I understood how school worked, but experiencing it firsthand was a completely different matter.

  Taking another look around, I bit at the eraser of my pencil. Why was I so afraid? I knew the subject well and didn’t have a problem learning. I watched as a young girl checked her Facebook on her tablet. She looked as if she was just out of high school. Ugh, I felt old. Most students seemed younger than me, but, in truth, I didn’t know my actual age. Doctors said I was in my mid-twenties, but that didn’t tell me anything. When was my birthday? Where was I born?

  Who was I?

  It was a question that popped up more frequently than not, but I tried to move on. It didn’t mean I’d give up looking for the answers. No, I wasn’t a quitter, I just needed to find a future before I could find my past. I hadn’t given up. I wouldn’t give up.

  There was one thing that I knew: when I looked up at the sky, I felt at home. I felt as if I belonged. I could recognize systems, I knew their names, understood how they formed, even how long they had existed. How I knew all of it, I had no idea. Sometimes I baffled myself by the knowledge, but it made me feel as if I could connect with something from my past. Small, I know, but at least it was something, even if it didn’t answer the questions I wanted to know. So that’s why I found myself in this class, to better my knowledge on the subject. It was something I could control and it made me feel good about myself.

  The professor came in, his grey hair a mess, big square glasses covering his eyes, and wore a suit that looked as if it hadn’t been dry-cleaned since the 1980s. Wrinkles covered his face but I figured him to be only in his fifties. Dark rings circled his eyes from lack of sleep. I started to debate if he really wanted to go into this field or just ended up here because there was nothing else he knew how to do. Then again, maybe he had gone out drinking last night.

  Putting his scarred briefcase on the desk at the front of the classroom, he clicked it open and turned his attention to the class. “Hello class, welcome to Physics 475, my name is Dr. Moph. If you are in the wrong class, please go ahead and leave,” he motioned with his hand as if shooing away the unwanted.

  A couple of students quickly gathered their things, faces red. I watched as they stood up and left. I had a nightmare a couple weeks ago about that happening to me. Now they would have to explain to their actual class why they were late. How embarrassing.

  “Right, so the rest of you should be my students. Fantastic.” He didn’t appear that enthusiastic. Frowning, his eyes darted to each of us. He seemed annoyed to have to be here. I decided he couldn’t have been out with friends. I doubted he had any.

  “Prepare for a hard semester ahead of you. I guarantee at least half of you will fail my class and decide not to go into physics or astrophysics. The rest of you will go on to be geniuses.”

  I heard a few murmurs. A student next to me got online and dropped the class right then and there. The professor just wanted to scare the students, it couldn’t be that bad.

  At least, I hoped.

  He began class with details of star systems such as ours. Binary stars got a little more complicated. He briefly went through the details of how so many stars had to have evolved and gone supernova in order for the right elements to form. That’s the reason it took ten billion years before a solar system could have the ingredients to sustain life. He didn’t think life outside of our solar system existed, but I disagreed. I believed life existed outside our solar system, the problem was simply no one had found it yet. There was no doubt in my mind, though, life had to exist out there, beyond this simple planet.

  Just like in Doctor Who.

  It was my favorite show and I swear I had learned more about history watching it than what was on my HST 101 syllabus. It was an overview of western civilizations, and I looked forward to it, but I had a feeling I would be a little bit bored.

  Dr. Moph then went through different scenarios that could have created a habitable planet in our solar system; supernova debris, the spot that gas giants formed, bombarded by large chunks of debris—how we acquired our moon. All of it seemed familiar to me, as if someone had explained it before.

  After he droned on about different stages of the process, Dr. Moph started writing equations on the board for dust grain growth in a protoplanetary disk. I tried to stay up to speed as I scribbled them all down, along with the variable definitions. He wrote them quickly and students panicked as he erased some off the board to make room for even more terms. I didn’t worry, the textbooks would include the equations. Probably.

  Keeping with his fast pace, he wrote more and more equations on the board. I did my best to keep up and as I wrote them down, I noticed something off. 7/32. It should have been 9/32.

  As I stared at them, it ate at me. I knew I should say something, it could show up on a test and I didn’t want everyone to get it wrong. I doubted he would show mercy on the test, even if he had given the wrong information so I raised my hand.

  “Yes?” Dr. Moph rubbed the back of his neck.

  “I think you meant to write 9/32 not 7/32,” I glanced around. People stared at me. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.

  “You think?” Dr. Moph clenched his teeth.

  “Actually, she’s right. Says it right here,” the man three seats to my left held up his tablet, his German accent apparent.

  My jaw almost dropped. It was the man I had seen on my way to class, the one that I thought I recognized. He leaned back, as if satisfied I had proven the professor wrong. The rest of the class thought I committed some kind of sin. They shook their heads at me, frowning. At least I had one person on my side. I turned quickly away from him, blushing.

  Dr. Moph tapped his finger on the table in front of the room as he stared at the man. “What’s your name?”

  “Emmerich, sir.”

  A jolt of pain went through my skull. I had thought the migraine had passed. I pinched the bridge of my nose, an old trick to get rid of the headache. Rick. I called him Rick. But when? And where?

  Dr. Moph checked the roster. “I don’t see your name here.”

  “I’m trying it out to see if I want to add the class to my schedule,” Emmerich gave a bemused smile.

  Dr. Moph studied him, squinting. “Have we met before?”

  Emmerich shrugged. “Don’t think so. I just have one of those faces.”

  I bit my lip. No, that wasn’t it, I had to of known him before. Maybe I was finally closer to figuring out my past. I couldn’t wait until class was over so I could talk to him. I had no idea what I was going to say, but I had to. I couldn’t give up on this chance to finally get some answers.

  Dr. Moph went back to teaching about planet formation, every so often he’d glance over, making sure I didn’t have any more comments. Great, I was already on his bad side and it was only the first day of class.

  Emmerich didn’t even look my way but kept his eyes on the professor, taking notes with his tablet. His tablet looked old, at least five years old. He must have got it right
when he graduated high school. Was he a graduate student? Realizing my thoughts were lingering on him and not paying attention to the material Dr. Moph was giving, I quickly turned back to the board and wrote down the new set of notes just before they were all erased. I did not pay to get distracted in this class.

  Class finished and I turned to find Emmerich already gone. I swallowed hard and hurried out before the professor noticed. I didn’t want him to say anything about correcting his equation. It wasn’t my fault he didn’t have it written down correctly.

  Before I knew it, Emmerich was all ready long gone. I fiddled with the straps of my backpack. I had missed my opportunity and Emmerich probably wouldn’t be adding the class after today. I wouldn’t if I were him. Besides, if he did know me, he probably would have said something, which he hadn’t.

  With my hopes crushed and nothing else to do on campus, I decided to start back to my apartment. I lived at Rose Schnitzer Tower, just next to campus. I didn’t have much money, but had a job tutoring students, mostly high schoolers, and earned enough money to live nicely enough. It had started last December at Powell’s Bookstore when I overheard a tutor giving all the wrong information to his student.

  Acid to water like a good chemist otter, he really should have gone back to school.

  So I said something. Not only could I not let him teach the boy all the wrong things, but it could have led to a rather dangerous lab session. I impressed the mother so much that she started paying me to teach her child and fired the other guy. Word got around to the other parents. Around the same time, I also applied for—and received—a scholarship for the university and here I was, not having to worry about too much. It seemed perfect, but I had a lingering feeling all that was going to change. I was probably worrying about nothing, just nervous starting, practically a new life.

  As I walked through campus, an eerie feeling swept over me. Like someone was watching me. I hardly believed it, I wasn’t interesting enough to be the star of a thriller movie, but the feeling didn’t go away.